Friday, October 23, 2015

You
are the punishment of God, the voice tells me, if they had not committed great sins God would not have sent a
punishment like you upon them. I am the punishment of God, I affirm, if
they had not committed great sins God would not have sent a punishment like me
upon them. Someone shouldn’t spend the whole of their God-given lives earning a
dime and a bob on the Holy Spirit’s temple. It is a sin against God and nature.
I feel it is my duty as a servant of God to protect womanhood and sexuality from
degradation.

When I started in Nakuru I did
not stop until I went to all the 47 counties. God had sent me to the lost ewes
of Kenyan towns. I picked the prostitutes easy. I knew they would not be
reported missing right away and might never be reported missing. I knew I would
kill as many of them as I wanted without getting caught. I reasoned that since
they were doing illegal work, they had to be secretive and discreet. Many were
drug addicts and estranged from their families, desperadoes, so they were less
likely to be reported missing. Anyone involved with them, in the trade,
wouldn’t be super eager to speak with police.

I guessed wrong. People
talked, but not to the police. They talked to my all-time nemesis, the media.
The jackals gave the tarts unnecessary media coverage. The reporters were like
vultures, doing it not for the love of the dead but of the feast. I wondered
when humanity became so shameless. The lucky ones who escaped my snare took to
the streets yapping about their rights, demanding the government protect them
as though delineation of police duties included standing guard as the whores
sold pussy.

Mathew 10:23 – ‘when they
persecute in one city, run away to another...’ The media jackals were
persecuting me, talking about me, alerting and warning others to beware of a
serial killer targeting the oldest professionals in human history. I had to run
away. But I was not running really. I was moving on for truly I tell you, I had
to go to all towns in the 47 counties to spread the Gospel. Serial murders of
prostitutes were reported in every town of the republic, with no single case
solved, all murders turned frustratingly cold.

When I killed them, and drank
their cold blood, I took with me their precious vaginas and breasts.
Psychologists on national television trying to analyse me said that I was
taking souvenirs with me so each time I looked at or touched them they reminded
me of the victims, that I had a connection with the victims. They wouldn’t have
been further from the truth. God had ordered me to take the parts with me to
present as exhibits on judgment day.

Now, I have gone to all the
counties save for one – Nairobi City County. Nairobi is where the final mow
down of prostitutes will take place. Like Samson I will kill more on my death
than in my lifetime. I never planned on getting caught. I can’t be caught. I
can’t go to prison. It is the proper road to take to spare the victims’
families further anguish, save the taxpayer the burden of trying me and feeding
me in prison, and save the police the trouble of investigating me because if I
go to court the burden of proof will largely depend of them.

Today is December 16th, International
Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers. Can you imagine that? Sex workers my
ass! Today I will fulfil my mission in this world. Today, Saint Peter will open
the gates of heaven for me, an aide will take me to God’s well-furnished
office, and I will hand over the evidence for lockup in the evidence cabinet
and await the judgement day when the prostitutes will get what was coming to
them.

After today, The Call Girl
Killer will never be heard of. The murders of those prostitutes will enter the
Kenyan history books of unsolved murders. From today, the police will stop
looking for me and the National Intelligence Service will take over my case.
Well, not my case per se, but they will be looking for the terrorist who killed
all those prostitutes gathered at Uhuru Park demanding protection from the
government. Today, when I’m gone, it will be another al-Shabaab attack on
Kenyan soil.

Hail
Mary full of grace, I roll the beads of the rosary in my hand. Pray for us sinners now and the hour of death.
I finish the prayer and make my way to the centre of the crowd. Zawadi
Nyong’o’s security is trying to shield her from fans. She has been a superstar
ever since she organized the first International Day to End Violence Against
Sex Workers in Kenya. Her entourage includes the Queen prostitute, the
Chairlady Kenya Sex Worker Alliance (KESWA).

My heart is palpitating,
stomach taut, hands clammy. You are the
punishment of God, the voice tells me again, if they had not committed great sins God would not have sent a
punishment like you upon them.

Hail
Mary full of Grace, I repeat silently. Pray for us sinners now and the hour of our death… I’m now close.
My body is expanding, the suicide vest is almost snapping open and falling on the
ground. Shove becomes push and I know I don’t have much time. I’m drenched in
my sweat, and nauseated by the prostitutes’ sweat. They smell of pheromones,
menses, and semen. Too bad I have to be promoted to glory surrounded by them,
carry their stench with me to paradise, but it is my mission.

I call unto Mary the Mother of
God for the last time and reach for the switch inside my trouser pocket. I want
to scream ‘God have mercy on us sinners’, but what I actually say is, ‘Allahu Akbar!’